academyooc | test drive meme

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test drive meme

Test Drive Meme The Pan Pacific Defense Corps was usually offered any of a variety of local buildings to set up their testing centers. For reasons of access and availability, most testing clinics were set up in central areas for any given community. Those of the PPDC staff on hand vary in their personal intensity. Some of the men and women wearing Strike Group insignia seemed overly serious, to the point of frowning with intensity at some of the youngest checking in for this testing round. Those from the K-Science division are tight with nervous energy as they direct prospective cadets through various activities. Everything was meant to measure potential, looking for that spark that meant they had somebody who was Drift Compatible. The majority of people were turned away after the first series of seemingly random tests, officials looking in eyes, placing odd looking contraptions over heads, asking for people to play a series of short games, one even in a virtual reality set-up.

	( SCENARIO ONE ) If you are still here now, you've made it past the first cut. You'll be sat down in a room with the rest who have made it this far, then systematically led into smaller interview rooms as pairs. If you came with a partner, they're your first interview candidate. If you came on your own, all your interviews are random assignment. All who have been asked to stay are required to sit through and conduct a series of short peer to peer interviews. The questions are straightforward. What is your least favorite color? Which tool in a standard toolbox is most useful to you? What time of day do you accomplish the most? Do you have children? What do you believe the Drift is like? Peer to peer interviews last for half an hour to an hour, and each person is asked to participate in at least three peer-to-peer interviews. There is no punishment for going off script. There is a one-way mirror looking into each interview area, and one door leading into the room with a small panel of glass located on the door. There is a clock on the wall in each room. The time they report is odd, when examined. These are not digital clocks, but timers, counting up time since the last Kaiju attack.

	( SCENARIO TWO ) Congratulations! You have been judged Drift Compatible, and sent home to pack after giving a definite yes to the Pan Pacific Defense Corps. The next thing you face down is the flight into Santiago, Chile, and the subsequent drive in to Valparaíso's Shatterdome. You and the rest of the crowd of soon to be PPDC Ranger Cadets have been gathered together to wait for the old bus scheduled to take you to the Shatterdome. While waiting in the open air, those from any Northern Hemisphere countries may find the summer weather strange. Today's high is going to be in the upper 80's, and there's not a cloud to be seen that's not clinging to the distant mountains. Welcome to Chile. When the bus arrives, it's another hour ride out toward the coastline to get to the Shatterdome. Even better? The bus Air Conditioner is broken. Safe travels, Cadets!

Please set up your own scenarios as you like. The above two scenarios are suggestions. Anything goes!

→ Directory ←

Threaded | Flat

( scenario one )

They're shown into a little box of a room and she takes a second before she moves to her seat. Just a second and a quick glance, not careless or nervous. There simply isn't a lot that she didn't already expect to see. A window (and it could only be a window), a clock and chairs. There are two of them and placed facing each other as if for interrogation, as if for enemies. She sits, waits, tipping her head to the other chair to signal her interview partner to sit as well. Not a gesture of command but not of invitation either, more the courtesy paid at the beginning of a duel. Incongruous with any impression made of her based only on her appearance. Seventeen in a schoolgirl skirt but there is something precise in the way she sits with her crossed ankles, shins in black socks, arms bent at the elbows so that she's all strong lines and angles.

Suddenly she relaxes back into her seat, a softening of her body meant to deceive, to create a false lull so that when she asks "What do you think the Drift is like?", her voice is a knife-slice of sound in the quiet room.

( scenario two: calisthenics, 1-4 mile run )

[ she's used to the summer of an urban city, sunlight reflecting off glass and steel, the noise and the claustrophobic crowd. the Chilean summer is different. The heat is a weight pressing down on her, relentless and without a single cloud or skyscraper to obscure the full glare of the sun. only their instructors seemed unaffected and even seemed inspired by it, sadistically assigning them daily runs although as former track star, this isn't that much of a change to Hitagi. but this is the academy and there's always the Drift to keep in mind so they're assigned to run in pairs.

you run together and if need be, you fall down together. one of you wants to stop, you both stop, rest but don't sit down and then move when you're both ready. no leaving your partner behind and no skiving off somewhere either and pretending you ran the miles.

her partners change daily. some are faster than her, some have more stamina. some are more sensible and know when they're about to hit their limit. hitagi never asks to stop even when her partner decides to extend the run past the initial mile.

she's pinning her hair up as she looks at the partner she's been assigned for today's run ]

I'm not going to ask to stop. Don't mistake this for a challenge though. I'm not concerned about your pride and neither should you worry about mine.

( ooc: eep first post ok the calisthenics instructions are totally made up sorry for taking liberties mods! also please tag in whatever style you prefer. er i know the game preference is for prose but i went in and put a starter in brackets so that there's something for either tagging preference. i can edit it if i misunderstood and it's actually prose-required. uwoooo sorry again! )

[Scenario 1]

[Anyone with one eye half open can tell this kid is nervous, jittery, fiddling with his gloves and looking around at everything but not engaging anyone. At least he seems resigned to his own anxiety, and does a good job of containing it to himself. He isn't what you would call a bother.

When you're both ushered into the small interview room and he sits across from you, he smiles. There's an obvious note of uncertainty but none-the-less the smile is genuine. He's actually happy to be here, and to see you, though it's probably no secret he hasn't the faintest clue what he's doing. He picks up the sheet with the scripted interview questions but doesn't look at it yet, instead tripping into an eager, if somewhat shy, greeting.]

Hi! I'm Luke. It's nice to meet you.

"Orange," is her answer to what is her least favorite color, wrinkling her nose as if the color personally offended her. "It clashes with everything," she says, providing an extra explanation just in case. And it does. With her pale skin, tailored clothes and blue-dyed hair (gray enough to look vaguely natural, but blue enough to seem rebellious), she definitely does not seem like a great appreciator of the color orange. She sits up with proper posture, with her hands in her lap - one hand per lap, mind you - she's not some common boor.

"What's your least favorite color?" she asks in return, if her fellow candidate has nothing else to say about her answer. She asks it as if there is a right and wrong reply for that question, and that there will be repercussions for getting it wrong.

[ I am also open to bracket tagging! ]

Edited 2014-01-28 03:41 (UTC)

[Back on Shatterdome turf, at last. It felt good after a month's suspension, but he knew it wouldn't last long. They told him he'd have to start at the bottom again--any screw up during the first three months, and he was out on his ear, just like anybody else. That, as well as extra training and restricted free time, was one of the many benefits of getting "reassigned" (as the official papers said) to the Valparaiso Academy.

Yuri's CO hadn't been so diplomatic about telling him the news.

So he had to make sure to dot his 'sirs' and not cross his arms when standing at attention, iron his uniform, shine his boots, the works. Thankfully, he'd nailed down the science of where, when, and how to sneak off. Just because he was used to the rigmarole didn't mean it didn't get to him, sometimes.

So he had eaten a hasty lunch, not even bothering to sit before he'd ducked out of the cafeteria and headed for outside, finding a secluded rail to lean against as he took off his jacket and pulled out his hairtie. He did a quick double-check for anyone approaching who might dock him for 'being out of uniform' before he tilted his head back to look at the cloudless sky, his shoulders finally relaxing in the clean, stiff starch of his uniform shirt.]

Edited 2014-01-29 03:28 (UTC)

Scenario One:

Andrea picked up the clipboard, tucking it under her arm as she turned the handle into one of the small partitioned interview rooms. Fascinating how much has changed, she thought, remembering back to tests involving the X-Box as a highlight of mastery in coordination skills. The Pan Pacific Defense Corps hadn't been too far off the mark in considering hand eye coordination to be key, but it wasn't an early indication of Drift Compatibility. Not in Andrea's experience.

She was dressed casual in jeans and a button down shirt, no jewelry or make-up in evidence. A headband kept her hair swept back off her face. She held out her hand to the other occupant of the room, a smile sliding into place.

"Nice to meet you," she said. "You can call me Andy. You are...?"

(scenario I)

Waiting for his new survey partner to make himself (or herself) comfortable across from him, Eren leans on the table, watching the clock on the wall—the one counting up from the last Kaiju attack—with serious green eyes and an oddly intense amount of focus. As if he's waiting for it to reset any minute.

This many hours since we were last invaded. This many days since the human race had to fight to survive.

The clock ticks up (57 seconds...58...59...another whole minute that the hammer hasn't fallen;) and he blinks back down away from from it to study the person across from him. This could be the person he drifts with one day.

"You wanna start or should I?" he asks, and looks dubiously down at the seemingly random grouping of questions. It doesn't make much sense to him, how they could tell anything from this stuff. Still, this is important. He's not going to goof around.

(scenario II)

It's hot as hell in Chile. Muggier than he'd come to expect from summers in California. Despite the oppressive heat, Eren is practically bouncing on the balls of his feet as the new recruits wait for the bus to arrive. It does, finally, allowing them to file into the stuffy interior wihthout fanfare. He manages to swing himself into an empty seat with enthusiasm just as the bus lurches itself into motion, bumping shoulders with the poor unfortunate soul already occupying the window seat in the process.

"Shit, sorry," except he doesn't really look sorry. Far too busy craning his neck to look out the window, as if expecting to catch sight of the Shatterdome already.

"Almost there," he breathes, mostly to himself. He's waited years for this. Ever since Trespasser had torn his old life up from the roots and devoured it. Ever since the jaeger program had been established and given him a way to fight back, to achieve his dreams. The best weapon against the kaiju. Jaegers. Like a sign that he's meant for this. He has to be.

(bonus scenario III)

It turns out Eren Jaeger is nothing much like the finely tuned machines that happen to share his name. In fact he seems—at first glance—entirely inept, if earnest. Dedicated, passionate. Enthusiastic—to the point of idiocy, maybe—but almost as likely to hurt himself as he is to take out a practice dummy. To be more accurate, he's prone to achieving both at the same time with alarming consistency.

He is, frankly, embarrassing. But to his credit he is getting better. And fast.

Unfortunately, today is not a day in which he manages to circumvent his nature. He's bloodied his nose doing something ill-advised and possibly suicidal during kwoon combat training. It's not bad enough to warrant a trip to the infirmary, but he's been ordered to stand by on the sidelines until he's done bleeding all the over the place. So he's sitting outside the room, glaring daggers at the ceiling and holding a red-spotted towel up to his bruising face. As he hears someone approach, he lowers it and looks back down. Furrowing his brow, he sets his jaw and his shoulders, as if he's got something to prove.

"I said I was fine," he insists, apparently under the impression that the person in question has been sent to check on him. Whether or not that's true— "I don't need babysitting."

(Also open to brackets if you prefer it! I'm flexible.)

Edited (tenses why) 2014-01-28 06:56 (UTC)

Scenario II

The temperature, he could get behind. He'd even like it a little hotter, he thought as he glanced around. He almost thought it was sheer luck he'd gotten this far. He'd figured he'd end up washing out on the Drift Compatibility part of the program, but then, maybe it was because he was finally doing something he wanted to do instead of something he was being made to do. Seemed like that made a difference.

He bent down to flick a bug off his boot. He didn't want it up his pants leg and he didn't want it ending up on the bus, either. And none too soon. The bus appeared around the bend just as he was standing and he actually smiled to see it. "Well," Mike murmured to himself. "Here we go."

»» SCENARIO 2

The young man taking his seat on the beaten-up old bus does not, quite honestly, look like someone who's just had his life changed forever by being accepted into an elite force designed to protect and save humanity. He has far too much of the look of someone having an ordinary day. Maybe he's thinking about what's going to be for lunch?

After a minute, though, a frown crosses his peaceful face, and all of a sudden he's getting up from his seat, heedless of the motion of the bus. "No, this is no good. Seriously, everyone's going to overheat. It's not safe." Not safe, he says, while making his way busily up the aisle of a moving bus. "Let me have a look at the air conditioning. I'm a little bit of a mechanic, all right?"

1: INTERVIEW

Whoever's been chosen from the throng to speak with Armin will find their peer sitting straight-backed across from them, interview questions set neatly in his lap, exuding the general aura of someone about to go up on stage. Not a smooth, patient confidence, either—more of the nervous, preemptively embarrassed variety.

Honestly, he'd prefer a stage. Public speaking and even talking to strangers, he can handle. One might even argue he has a natural talent for it, but this sort of casual and personal banter fodder written out before him to use on the person opposite doesn't exactly fall in the category of his forte.

Surprisingly, the unease hardly reaches his face, and he'll mask the little that does with an exchange of pleasantries.

"Hello, my name is Armin," and should the other be so gracious as to return the greeting, "... Would you prefer we each go down the list of questions in its entirety, or should we alternate?"

2: CALISTHENICS

He'd never been under the illusion training would be easy, but while the bustling busywork from dawn to dusk is a routine he can adjust to with grace, one hour in particular is quite predictably making itself out to be the very bane of his existence.

The running.

It's not as if he's inactive, but he's always been partial to books over physical exertion (alright, he's a massive nerd, who in their right minds even let him get this far?). Not that that is any sort of excuse. Here there are standards. Strict standards, ones he clearly doesn't meet—perhaps ones he sets more for himself and far too high to boot—but by god, they are ones he will uphold or die trying.

Which, frankly, he sounds like he's just about to. The oppressive trifecta of sun, heat, and humidity is driving a slump into Armin's shoulders like a wedge into firewood, the splitting sensation in his ribs forcing his breaths out in short, rasping bursts. In spite of this, he presses on, but there's only so far mad determination not to disappoint will get one. And he's not even sure it's the required distance.

To anyone unfortunate enough to be running with him, they'll find him slowing helplessly to a trot, but in spite of ragged gasps and screwed-shut eyes, the spindly young man trudges on. More than half-expecting to be left behind whenever he glances up.

( ONE )

It's too hot.

It's probably the only thing in Leila's mind at the moment and despite looking like the picture of calm and composure with an open book on her lap, she's nothing but. Gaze listless, fingers moving to loosen the ribbon on her blouse, lips pulling to a tight line ... it's a clear sign of distraction and soon, she puts down her book to stare outside. Or more specifically, to stare at the window and figure out how to pry it open.

Perhaps it's just her; everyone else seems to be unconcerned. She's simply not used to this sudden change in climate in less than a day: from cool and mild to sweltering and oppressive. And with the change comes the uncomfortable feeling of her clothes sticking to her skin. Perhaps it's the fact that her window's shut tight, preventing any form of air circulation where she's seated. Or perhaps it's both.

Fighting back a sigh, she struggles to stand in a moving bus to address the easiest one: the window. One hand sets her book down and steadies herself against the seat while the other runs along the dusty edges of the window, in search of a latch. She soon finds it and attempts to slide the window open — only for it to stay stuck. She frowns at it, rather confused.

"... Am I doing it incorre —" The last word gets cut off as the bus lurches, forcing her to stumble back into her seat and bump into her unfortunate seatmate. "Sorry."

( TWO )

Leila's been wandering through the shelves of the library, several books already resting in one arm: several history books, an almanac, an atlas and a French copy of Guibert's Essay on Tactics. Her eyes easily scan the titles on each and every book, fingers brushing the edge of the spines without pause. From an onlookers perspective, she's aimless, not knowing what or which book to pull out and read.

She pulls one out of the shelf, pushes it back in, moves to the next book. Rinse and repeat. After she's done with her seemingly pointless search, she moves to one of the desks in the library and spreads the material she's collected so far, effectively occupying the entire table. Setting up camp, as she would like to call it.

Needing a table? There's one over there in the far corner because really, good luck getting her to move.

Perhaps you've already heard the rumors about Tamaki Suoh, the French-Japanese cadet who is supposedly so ludicrously wealthy that his family actually built him his own Jaeger to pilot around with his friends. Of course, it naturally followed that he must have bought his way into the academy as well. They say he's quite the playboy as well...

If you have heard these rumors, you probably won't be surprised by his mannerisms. He's well-groomed and smiles as if he hasn't a care in the world, confident to the point of smug. He has glanced at himself in the one-way mirror no less than three times before so much as sitting down, and the countdown clock only once.

"Shall we begin?"

( scenario i.)

The chairs are strictly utilitarian things, all hard edges and unyielding lines that offer support but not an ounce of comfort. Yet Chelsea lounges in hers as though it came with plush cushions and a flexible spine, seemingly at ease with herself and her surroundings. A lollipop is in her mouth; she toys with it idly as she scans the questions.

"—Which tool in a standard toolbox is most useful to you?" A pause, then a lazy grin spreads across her face. "Oh, this sounds like a much better question to start with. Like, what does someone's favorite color have to do with anything?"

Her focus shifts to the person sitting across from her. A cocked eyebrow, the slightest dip of her head forward. Something that might be a challenge glitters in those bright red eyes as she waits, expectant, for an answer.

"Well?"

( scenario ii.)

Despite the heat, one of the cadets is working away at a lollipop with obvious relish as she gazes out the window. There's an easy smile on her face, no obvious tension to be found in the lines of her body, yet the look in her eyes is grim as well as faraway. It's not the gaze of someone wrapped up in idle, pleasant thoughts.....Ah, but maybe that's just a trick of the light. Because in the next moment, she's turning easily to offer another lollipop (this one still wrapped) to the nearest person with a grin too lazy and too mischievous to be appropriate in the slightest. As if this was a carefree school trip to somewhere fun, somewhere safe.

"Hey, you want one? It's a long trip."

There's only coy amusement to be found in her gaze, now.

[ooc: also available for bracket tagging!]

( Scenario 1 )

To the average onlooker, the young woman sitting in the chair awaiting her interview partner looked calm. Collected. With her perfect posture and her hands folded neatly in her lap, yet the thin line of her mouth betrays her anxiety.

She had little worry about being able to meet the physical demands that were required of a good cadet, but Drift Compatibility was another matter entirely. Aside from a select few, Mikasa wasn't exactly quick to make friends and rarely opened up to others. But she couldn't let that get in her way. What a joke, to get turned away from the academy because she had trouble connecting with others.

It's not off to a warm and endearing start, though, and she only offers her partner a small nod in greeting as they sit down across from her before turning her attention to the sheet of sample questions and clearing her throat, "What's your least favorite color?"

So much for introductions.

( Scenario 2 )

She'd only just cut her hair for the convenience of it (and because a certain someone suggested it), but it's hard not to be grateful when she's waiting to file onto the bus waiting to take them to the Shatterdome in the blistering hot weather of Chile.

It doesn't stop her from wearing her signature red scarf, though it's only loosely looped around her neck. She's just about to climb onto the first step of the bus when a strong gust of wind picks up the scrap of fabric and carries it off- and directly into the face of a poor soul farther back in line.

( Scenario 2 part 2 )

It turns out stepping out of line to retrieve your scarf is a good way to end up at the back, and with a poor choice in seats left to choose from. There's a handful in the front, but her sights are set for the back of the bus, where a certain fellow recruit by the name of Jaeger was seated by the window.

He'd yell at her if he knew her criteria for seating, but it didn't stop her from approaching one of the last half-empty bench seats in the back. Maybe the person sitting there already was saving it for someone else, or were just hoping to get a bench all to themselves but they'll soon find themselves with company.

"Is this seat taken?" It's more a formality than anything because she's not waiting for a yes before sliding into the seat next to them.

Raleigh Becket wasn't there to be a Cadet. He'd already put in his time, done the hard work, and you know what? It'd paid off. The opening of a second Academy was a great idea. The program was expanding and they needed to broaden their efforts as much as possible to gather the best recruits. And while it was great, the last thing Raleigh ever expected was to be reassigned to the Valparaíso Shatterdome.

But he and Yancy weren't the only ones. Having worked well together before, both Gipsy Danger and Striker Eureka were reunited to work in tandem and protect the new recruits when the complex opened. And, strategically, it wasn't a bad position to be in. Sure, Raleigh missed home and was pretty sure the heat and humidity might kill him most days, but it was something he could adapt to. And he had always been good at that.

And besides, he liked being right in the thick of the action. Having been through it all before, he was interested in seeing what came out of the new Academy, play with the new tech, maybe even hold a few open sparring sessions. He knows that part of being a Ranger is PR. He knows he stands for something, for a lot of things, actually, and while he's done more ridiculous photo shoots and magazine interviews and chat show appearances than he can count, he absolutely loves his job. Because he gets to wake up every day knowing he's doing something with his life. He's saving the world and he and his brother are doing it in a 260 foot Jaeger.

And they're damn good at it.

And being that guy in front of new hopefuls is inspiring. Being the beacon, the thing to work towards, it's pressure, sure, but he doesn't mind. What could be more pressure than a one on one fist fight with a giant alien monster?

So when the new Cadets arrived, he and his brother were there to receive them with a handshake and an effortless smile. They don't have to introduce themselves, there's not a person alive who doesn't know the pilots of Gipsy Danger. They're household names. And while they might be incredibly famous, they don't bite. Go ahead and say hello.

I; You've just arrived and have been herded into the reception hall. The Beckets are there greeting and shaking hands, chatting, even signing autographs and taking selfies with people. Go ahead and introduce yourself. You're going to be sharing space for a while.

II; Missed them at reception? That's fine. Raleigh is out and about by himself most evenings getting his bearings of the complex. It's just as new for him as it is for you.

III; Bet you want to see a Jaeger up close and personal. Sorry, you're probably not allowed in the hanger, but if you ask nicely he might show you a window he's found where you can get a glimpse of Gipsy and Striker.

IV; Got some questions about what it's like to be a Ranger? To Drift? He's your man. Raleigh will talk about his love for the job until he's blue in the face and keep going even then.

V; Wildcard. Turn a tight corner and run into him head first? kick a rock and he walked in the way at the absolute worst possible moment? A member of the Raleigh Becket Fan Club~? Come at me, bros.

Edited 2014-01-30 09:03 (UTC)

SCENARIO 1

[He'd done research on the admission process, of course, but the first round of the tests had still been...odd. Not unpleasant, but odd. But video games and so forth hadn't required much interaction beyond the odd remark to keep himself and his partner on track to their objective. The peer-to-peer interviews, though... Making small talk with strangers had never been high on his list of things he enjoyed. Still, it could have been worse.

Sitting straight but relaxed in his seat, Akito waited with a neutral expression for his next interview partner to be shown into the room. He gave them just enough time to sit before pulling the list of interview questions towards himself, reading off the first in quiet, lightly-accented English.]

What is your least favorite color?

SCENARIO 2

[An exhausted silence had long since settled over the last batch of cadets. Some occupied themselves with books or games, some murmured to each other in soft voices. All of them peered anxiously down the road for the already-late bus that was supposed to take them to the Shatterdome. Akito himself had settled off to one side, letting the murmur of their voices and traffic around wash over him.

On the one hand, being alone meant he didn't have to make small talk in the stifling heat. On the other hand, it meant that when the bus did finally arrive, he was one of the last to stow his bags and get on. The bus driver was yelling at the stragglers to hurry up and seat themselves, the bus engine already revving, and the bus pulled away just as Akito slid into his seat.

The swaying of the packed bus threw Akito into the person already seated by the window as he sat down. He quickly righted himself with a soft apology.]

Ah, excuse me.

SCENARIO 3

[OOC: Neither 1 or 2 work for you? Hit me with something else.]

(Welcome to the lab)

"So, is this your first time seeing a K-science lab?" Tenpou was in an amiable mood and was prone to chatting as he worked, but he knew it was unlikely that any of the new Academy recruits had experienced anything quite like his lab. The room was large, but almost claustrophobically crammed full of unusual equipment - most of it custom-made - and enormous vessels crafted from tempered glass and steel. Inside these glass cylinders, the alien shapes of Kaiju organs and tissue samples floated in a murky ammonia solution intended to slow their rapid decomposition. The harsh scent of ammonia was heavy in the air, almost masking less pleasant smells from a robotic dissection apparatus in the corner of the lab. There were also several moldy containers of half-eaten Chinese takeout piled by a computer workstation. Most showed evidence of having been used as makeshift ashtrays. "It's not that bad. You get used to the smell after a while, and if you fail out of Ranger training, I can always use lab assistants." Tenpou paused to light a fresh cigarette. "For some reason, the lab assistant turnover rate is quite high..."

He continued his meandering tour of the lab, stopping occasionally to peer into digital displays or check the timer on a centrifuge. "The PPDC has an international think tank of scientists studying the Kaiju, but after seven years, we're only beginning to be able to identify the major organs. Part of the problem is that their bodies start decomposing into highly toxic by-products as soon as they're killed, and the other is that giant robots with swords really aren't equipped for careful dissection and sampling." Tenpou shook his head, as if he saw this as a great oversight in Jaeger design. "I keep telling the higher-ups that we're going to start losing Rangers if we don't get the data we need to fight those things, but..." He cut himself off immediately and shook his head until his sudden look of cold focus flattened back into a vague, pleasant smile. "But you don't really want to hear about that, do you? You're here to become a hero."

Interview

Sugane is sitting ramrod straight in his chair with his hands folded in his lap. He's wearing a suit he dragged up from the back of his closet and ironed within an inch of its life before arriving at the facility, so you can imagine his chagrin at seeing so many of his fellow candidates dressed casually in their street clothes. Don't they realize how important this interview is? They can't possibly be treating it with the level of seriousness and dedication that it requires.

He's already memorized the interview questions and his answers to them, so there shouldn't be any problems. He's sure to impress the observers with his dedication and focus. At least that's what he's been telling himself all morning.

[ooc: I'll match however you want to respond. Present tense, past tense, prose, brackets, anything is fine.]

[1]

There are plenty of fresh young faces on the bus, but Toji may very well be one of the youngest, having his birthday fall just within the cutoff date for enrollment. But as far as he's concerned, he's pretty much an adult anyway (so really, the mindset of your typical teenager). At least enough of one to know that this is his decision and he's sticking to it.

This particular child is a little cranky and in need of a nap. The oppressive heat and the jet lag are getting to him, and he can't even get comfortable enough to sleep on the bus. Not to mention his seatmate is too close for comfort, particularly when there's a bump in the road or a sudden turn.

"Maaan," he grumbles, fanning himself with his hand. "It's too hot to be this packed together... scoot over a little."

[2]

It doesn't matter what's being served for lunch, it is never enough to satisfy the walking stomach that is an adolescent boy. Where does it all go? It is a mystery. But with his own rations having vanished into the gaping void of his belly, Toji's on the prowl for seconds, starting with any poor soul sitting at his table with food still on their trays.

"Hey, you gonna eat that?"

[3]

Wildcard! It's your call.

Edited 2014-02-01 10:39 (UTC)

[Scenario 1]

Some part of Guy Cecil is surprised he's still here. A larger part is surprised at how calm he feels now that he finds himself, in fact, still here.

He knows, logically, that he's about to undergo a search for someone to share all his secrets, thoughts and feelings. That alone should have him storming right back to Telluride after years of miserably doing his best to shutter every damn category. Yet here he was, on the other side of the world, enrolling after his idiotic best friend had told him he was running away to atone in a Jaeger, and then actually followed through with it. After mere days in a strangely quiet house, like some kind of idiot who doesn't feel the need to spend any time or deep thought on life decisions, Guy followed him. Without so much as a packed bag.

How long had he been expected to come here? How long had he absolutely not wanted to do this? And that was what it took?

He smiles to himself, wry. He looks for all the world relaxed and approachable in a room full of nerves, though kindness doesn't reach his eyes. Hearing his name called helps even more. He wasn't used to it yet, and it felt like he was assuming a new identity entirely - why not make it one that could make a change in the world? He'd find someone who worked. It wasn't as if he was the only one who would have rubble and blood in the Drift, anyway.

"Nice to meet you," he says, finally focusing on his interview partner.

Edited 2014-02-02 04:28 (UTC)

1.
Kou's a bit nervous, honestly. He was sent here to succeed, not to flunk out on a technicality. The questions aren't what he expected. Few of them are relevant at all. It's more like a personality test than a knowledge test, isn't it? That's great, but which personality are they looking for here? Is there a wrong answer? Is it just to determine compatibility?

Maybe that's it. He taps the cards together, forgetting that he's grasping them too tightly for that. A thin line of blood blooms on the inside of his index finger. A paper cut. He stares at it for a moment, watching the red spread over his pale skin. Well, he'll just have to be himself. You can't get through everything on tradition. He clears his throat, and shoots an easy smile at his interview partner. "I've never built anything in my life," he admits. "Maybe the measuring tape. Nothing works if it doesn't fit, right?"

2.
Travel is a familiar concept for Kou, but this is a diffeent style than he's used to. He'd occasionally reflected before on what sort of difference it made to forgo first class, walking past long lines of other passengers at aeroports. He'd always found the scene distasteful, and secretly had hoped to try general boarding out at some point to see what it was like.

This is a little more than he'd bargained for. The bus is crowded and stuffy, the roads are rough. He's jet lagged and nauseous, craning his neck toward the nearest window to try and catch a glimpse of he unfamiliar country whizzing by, as though it might help. It's a tossup, between the exhaust fumes and the burning feeling of the overheated floor beneath them. He wipes some sweat from his brow and glances around. Is this normal? It can't be, right? Everyone else looks miserable, too.

He pulls some gum from a pocket -he'd brought it for the flight, and he's glad for it now- and offers a piece to the nearest person he can catch the eye of. "Fresh out of the rose and lemon ice, but here's some ginger."

I.

Soujirou had brought no expectations with him to Valparaíso. He had only brought his goals, and those were good enough. He had almost eagerly allowed himself to be shuffled off into a partnership and only half listened to instructions. His best feature was that he was friendly, after all.

Soujirou made sure to give his interview partner a bright and unwavering smile. He didn't think at all that it might be too bright or too unwavering. That was because he didn't carry something like 'doubt' or '~~fear~~ social awkwardness' with him.

"Aha, do you mind if I start?" He didn't wait for a reply before launching the first question, "Which tool in a standard toolbox is most useful to you?"

II.

"Ahaha. . .well." The words escaped him before he had a chance to stop them. Not that they were necessarily a faux pas. He couldn't be the only one experiencing what most would call 'nervous laughter' (not that his was particularly nervous). With the high temperatures and no air conditioning surely others would also feel the need to fill the air with some kind of commentary.

"At least we'll have to get along." Then he just kept talking. Soujirou made sure to smile though. Smiles could be fairly disarming, he knew, and now was as good of a time as any to make friends.

III.

Oof. It's gotta be mid-morning by now, but Yancy is still yawning a little and hugging the corner with the coffee machine closely in between posing for photographs and signing autographs. A week in Chile and he still feels jet lagged. There's a strong urge to curl up on one of the benches lining the room that he has to fight. It's probably fortuitous that they look seriously uncomfortable.

He grunts a quiet thanks at the starry eyed new cadet who's just fetched him some murky sludge that might have started out as coffee around sunrise, but had since morphed into a type of milky syrup.

Close enough. He takes a sip and gags on it a little, but swallows it anyway. "Wow. That'll wake you up."

Edited (gdit Rals) 2014-02-11 10:49 (UTC)

Kate doesn't seem nervous to be in the smallest room. She never really looked nervous. There's an expression of quiet determination as she takes a seat across from the stranger. Interviews with peers? These she can do.

As she waits she looks up at the digital "clocks," noting that they obviously weren't the time. A countdown, maybe. She hadn't memorized how many days the last Kaiju attack was from right now.

Once her peer takes their seat she starts with the question she's most curious about. "What do you think the Drift is like?"

SCENARIO ONE

Sara is upside down, her legs anchored over the top of her chair, swinging freely. The crinkled rings of her long golden hair cascade downwards, brushing the floor, and she stares questioningly at the person seated across from her. Her skirt miraculously hasn't fallen down enough to expose anything, even though her legs idly kick in the air. She has the sheet with the questions clutched in her hands. First she peers at the upside down image of the person across from her, then she twists the sheet so she can see it.

"I'll start," she volunteers. "What do you think the Drift is like?"

She has her own ideas, but she wants to hear theirs first.

In the back of her mind, she's painfully aware of the clocks and the sparse amount of time they note it's been since the last attack. Only a few days. But she doesn't want to think about them right now. They need to finish this first.

SCENARIO TWO

Sara boards the bus with a confidence that seems out of place for such a young, small girl, and a grin that borders on almost cocky. But when she speaks, it's with a sweet voice. "Isn't this exciting?" she says, to the person behind her in line as they're waiting for the bus. "I can't wait!"

The heat and humidity are almost oppressive, making her hair cling to her shoulders and neck. She keeps playing with it, grabbing it to keep it off her skin and keep herself even a little bit cooler. Eventually she digs a hair band out of the small bag she's carrying with her and begins winding her hair into a long, messy braid.

"What do you think it's going to be like there?"

[ III ]

She'd checked the schedule early in the morning, right after waking up, then double-checked it again before breakfast. And then once more after she'd eaten, just to be sure she'd read things right. But every time she'd checked it, her schedule had stayed the same. The bus carrying the new cadets wouldn't be arriving until late in the afternoon, and if their bus ride here was anything like Joo Mun's had been a few days ago, none of them would be in any condition to explore the Shatterdome. At least, any part of the Shatterdome that didn't involve a shower.

Which meant she had just a few stolen hours to wander around the facility herself like the starstruck recruit she'd always been on the inside and not like the well-experienced transfer faculty member she would be required to be on the outside. Guiding students and directing lessons and... Wow. For a brief moment Joo Mun had to grimace over how old the thought of doing any sort of instructing made her feel. It didn't help that she'd been hearing some whispers from the other J-Tech staff about how a bunch of the latest cadets weren't even twenty yet.

"They're really starting them younger and younger..." she groaned out under her breath as she walked into the Kwoon Combat Room, too distracted by her own thoughts to appreciate the room like she'd come here to do. Or to notice anyone else currently occupying the room, for that matter.

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( hitagi senjougahara | monogatari series )

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